holding out for a hero
by Cora Clavia
Summary: This wasn't covered in employee training. AU.


Sam and Janet stare at the stubborn visitor who refuses to leave the entryway of the Tim Horton's.

"I tried to make him leave," Janet says, "but he just came back in. And now he won't move."

They're supposed to open in twenty minutes, but as it is, that's not going to happen. Sam bites her lip. This wasn't covered in employee training. "Any ideas?"

"I don't know what to do," Janet confesses.

"Do we – call the police?"

Janet thinks for a long moment. "I don't know who else to call."

Sam pauses. "Okay then." She ducks behind the counter, reaching for the phone. "They're going to think we're crazy."

* * *

When Constable Jack O'Neill drives up to the Tim Horton's, he's still half-sure the report was a mistake. But, as it turns out, it was entirely accurate.

There's a goat curled up in the entryway, staring balefully at him and Constable Jackson as they walk up, and two young women in aprons and uniform shirts are standing outside.

The taller one, who has blonde hair and beautiful, wide, bright blue eyes (not that he's noticing, of course) walks up to meet him and Daniel. "RCMP?"

"Constable O'Neill. This is Constable Jackson. You're Miss Carter?"

"Yeah." She nods. "We got here this morning, and he was already inside."

Jack frowns. "How'd he get in?"

"We have no idea," the shorter woman, a brunette pipes up. "And we tried to get him to leave, but he won't."

"Hmm." Okay. So this is a new one. "And you don't know where the goat came from?"

"A farm, I assume."

Jack fights the urge to grin. Miss Carter, along with being distractingly pretty, is a smartass. He likes that. "Seems like a safe bet."

Daniel pushes his glasses up his nose. "So this doesn't happen often, I take it?"

"No," the shorter woman tells him. "This is our first goat."

"Right. Okay." Daniel looks at Jack. "Your call."

* * *

Who knew it was so hard to get a medium-sized goat to move?

Jack and Daniel trained at Depot; they're fully trained in firearms use and safety, Arctic survival, search-and-rescue, hostage negotiation, and dogsled tactics. They are not, however, trained in goat movement.

For about eight seconds Jack considers calling in for more help, but the thought of just how much grief he'll get from Feretti and Kawalsky for that stops him short. Nope.

He and Daniel can handle this, right?

The goat has a collar, thankfully, so Daniel grabs that to pull, and Jack tries shoving the goat off the floor, towards the doors, which the two women are holding open for them. The goat, however, is not amused by this, and braces himself, bleating in protest.

By the time they get the goat out, it's pissed, Daniel's frazzled, and Jack has a bloody nose from a kick he didn't see coming until it was too late. They manage to wrangle the grumpy animal into the back of the car, where it immediately curls up on the seat as if nothing had happened, apparently just looking for warmth in the chilly autumn morning.

Daniel offers to check the rest of the restaurant before they leave, making sure there's no damage to deal with. Jack nods and swears under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. So much for the brave Mountie impressing the pretty girl.

"Oh, here. Let me."

The blonde sits him down in a booth and grabs a bunch of napkins, wadding them up and pressing them carefully to his face. Her hands are gentle and warm on his sore skin, and Jack lets out a long breath. "Thanks."

"We have a first aid kit back in the kitchen," she offers, but he waves a dismissive hand.

"Ah, it's fine. Not so bad." It actually hurts like hell. He decides not to think too hard about why he's pretending it doesn't. "I'll get someone to check it out back at the station."

* * *

Jack lets Daniel take the driver's seat, opting instead to sit in the passenger's seat, holding his nose carefully. Daniel wheels the car around, aiming back for the main street.

"Wait! Hang on!"

Daniel hits the breaks, and they turn to find the pretty blonde hurrying towards their car, holding two coffee cups.

"Here. You guys earned it." She hands the cups in carefully, one at a time, then digs in the pocket of her apron. "And here."

Jack takes the handful of cream and sugar packets she hands over, and he can't ignore the warmth that floods him when her fingers brush against his.

"Thanks."

Neither he nor Daniel takes cream or sugar, but he sure as hell isn't going to say that.

* * *

After some deliberation, Jack and Daniel drop the goat off at the nearest animal hospital. A vet eyes Jack's nose warily, asking if he needs help, but Jack waves it off.

* * *

"Jack?" Sergeant Hammond leans into Jack's office later that afternoon. "Got a visitor, son."

Jack looks up to find the girl from Tim Horton's walking through the station carrying a box under one arm. The blonde one, smiling self-consciously as she sees him. Carter, he remembers. She's Miss Carter.

She beams at him, and her smile is breathtaking, bright and winsome and utterly irresistible. "Constable O'Neill, right?"

"Hi, Miss Carter."

"It's Sam," she tells him. "Thanks again for – you know."

"De-goat-ification?"

She laughs. "Something like that."

"Glad we could help," he tells her, pulling out a chair so she can sit. "Any more issues?"

"Nothing. It's been very quiet since you left."

"Ah. Good."

"How about you?" She looks a little shy, her cheeks flushed pink. "Anything interesting?"

"Well, I arrested a goat this morning, so I don't see how the day could possibly get any better."

She laughs at that, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "How's the nose?"

"It's fine." Sore, but nothing serious. "So what brings you by?"

"Well, Janet and I talked, and we wanted to say thank you." She sets the box on his desk and opens it to reveal a huge assortment of donuts and pastries, and Jack blinks. "Figured we'd send enough so you can share."

"This is great. Thank you." He can see a handful of other Mounties eyeing the box out of the corner of his eye, but they're too polite to barge into the middle of his conversation. Yet, anyway. If it takes more than a few minutes, that politeness will disappear.

"You know," she says hesitantly, her fingers tapping absently on his desk, "we have this new policy. Free coffee for guys who help us get rid of goats."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Just went into effect." Her eyes are sparkling. "So – if you wanted to come by. I mean – if you want coffee."

"I like coffee."

"Good." She worries her bottom lip between her teeth again, adorably self-conscious. "Well – okay. So I guess I'll see you around, maybe."

"Yeah."

No sooner has she left, tossing one last beaming smile over her shoulder, than Jack finds himself besieged.

"Hey, Goat Boy!" Kawalsky claps one hand on Jack's shoulder. "Ooh, doughnuts."

"Help yourself."

"Sure thing." Kawalsky grabs a danish and takes a bite. "Was that your girlfriend?"

"No."

"Well, if she's going to bring in doughnuts, she should be."

* * *

It's two days later when Jack walks into the Tim Horton's to find a sign taped to the front door: _Please leave all goats outside_.

He finds Miss Carter – no, Sam, she said her name is Sam – behind the counter, and the moment her eyes meet his, she blushes furiously, even as she smiles. "Good morning, Constable."

"Good morning."

"Coffee?"

"Ah, yes, please. And a cinnamon roll."

She takes his money for the cinnamon roll, but refuses to ring up the coffee. "I told you. New policy."

Jack shakes his head, but takes the change she hands him. "Thanks."

She hands over his breakfast. "Your nose looks better."

"Feels better." Not before Kawalsky had half the station calling him 'Goat-Boy,' though.

"Good."

Jack realizes he's standing at the counter, food in hand, and this isn't normal behavior, and he should probably either sit down or leave, despite the fact that she has the bluest eyes and brightest smile he's ever seen, and her coworker – Janet, he remembers her saying – is watching them with folded arms and a knowing smile.

"I, uh. I should go." He gestures vaguely out towards his car. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Her eyes are sparkling like she has a secret, and if his left shoulder doesn't quite clear the doorframe on his way out, it's nothing. It's certainly not because he was looking back at her.

* * *

After two weeks of near-daily free coffee that he keeps trying to pay for (and the inevitable pastry he buys to make up for the fact that he's getting free coffee), Jack finally decides it's time to take a chance, because he's about seventy percent sure he's reading this entire situation right.

"Would you like to have coffee with me sometime?" Oh, wait. She works at a Tim Horton's. She gets plenty of coffee. "Or lunch? Or dinner?"

Not his smoothest approach, but it doesn't seem to faze her. Her face lights up. "I'd like that."

"Oh, _finally_," Janet mutters from the kitchen, just loudly enough that they can both hear her with perfect clarity. Sam shoots her a half-hearted glare, but turns back to Jack determinedly.

"Yes. I would like to go out with you."

Okay then. At least there's no ambiguity. "Great. Uh – you free for lunch Thursday?" She nods. "Maybe – noon? Uh, at Abby Doe's?" It's a café not far away; good food, casual-yet-distinctive atmosphere. Daniel and his wife have long recommended it.

"Perfect."

"Okay then." He spares a look back at Janet, who's watching them with undisguised amusement. "Great. I'll, uh, see you then."

* * *

When Sam walks into the café to meet him, he stands, pulls out her chair, and hands her a little stuffed goat.

It's a smart-ass move, but the smile she gives him confirms what he's suspected since he met her: she's got a soft spot for weird, lame humor. And that works out distinctly in his favor.

"Very nice." She perches it on the edge of the table where it can watch them. "You know, I forgot to ask – did you ever find out where the goat came from?"

"From what I hear, it was actually stolen," he tells her. "We left it at an animal hospital, and the vet called later to say it was taken from some farmer nearby. They called him and he came and picked it up."

"Good."

"Hello, folks." They look up to find a sandy-haired young man beside their table, smiling placidly. His name tag says MARTOUF. Jack wonders if that's a first or last name. "I'm Marty, and I'll be taking care of you today. Would you like to hear about our specials?"

* * *

She's a geek, he's delighted to find out.

Over soup and perfectly-toasted sandwiches, she confesses that she's seen every _Star Trek_ movie a half dozen times – her favorite is the one with the whales, although _The Undiscovered Country_ is a close second and _Wrath of Khan_ is right up there – and when she was a little girl, she once insisted on being a flying saucer for Halloween.

"Not an alien," she clarifies. "An actual flying saucer. I kept running between houses making _whoosh_ noises."

The mental picture of a scrappy little cardboard costume on a little blonde-haired girl running around yelling _WHOOOOOOOOSH! _is too adorable for words, and Jack laughs. "I'm sure you were an excellent alien ship."

She shakes her head. "So dorky."

"Nah." He grins at her. "It's cute."

She blushes, looking down at her plate. "You're humoring me."

"Only a little."

* * *

Marty assures them the desserts are to die for, so they end up splitting a cinnamon cream tart. And as much as Jack doesn't love the way the guy keeps looking at Sam with notable interest (_excuse me, buddy, it's _my_ job to look at her like that_), he's right. It's delicious.

Jack sinks his fork into the soft, flaky crust. "Janet's your coworker, right? The one who's been watching me like a hawk every time I come in?"

Sam rolls her eyes. "She's – opinionated."

"She seems nice." He likes Janet, but he also gets the feeling she can be scary if she wants to be, and her approval is something he wants.

"She's been waiting for you to ask me out," Sam huffs. "Every time you come in, she tells me to just ask you out myself, if you're going to take so long."

"Huh." Well then. "Good to know she likes me."

"It was more along the lines of 'stop staring at each other and just do something about it already,'" Sam murmurs, her cheeks pink, "but yeah."

There's a little bit of relief in knowing that this thing isn't one-sided. That there's at least one witness who's looked at the two of them and figured it's mutual. That he's not just some sad Mountie who fell for a girl who just needed his help.

"Well." He clears his throat, looking down at his dessert. "Good to know my dazzling wit and charm swept you off your feet."

It's deflection, and it's probably transparent, but she likes his sense of humor, he can tell; when he steals a glance up at her, she's smiling at him like she knows what he's doing.

"Wit and charm, huh?"

He shrugs. "You could just be dazzled by my thrilling heroics. And, you know. The uniform. It's an understandable reaction."

She quirks up an eyebrow. "You saved me from a goat."

"A _very_ menacing goat," he corrects her. "He was terrorizing the entire Tim Horton's."

"Still." She shrugs. "I helped with your nose. Doesn't that cancel it out?"

Hmm. "I didn't think of that."

"So basically" – she gestures with her fork – "we're even."

"Partners, huh?"

She chuckles, and he so desperately wants to reach across the table, wipe away the trace of whipped cream on the curve of her upper lip, and _jeez_ he's already got it bad. "Partners."

* * *

Outside, in the parking lot, Jack digs out his keys, hesitating beside his old truck. This was actually the easiest first date he's ever had. No weirdness, no posturing. She's a geek and she laughs at his stupid sense of humor. And she likes the little goat he gave her.

"This was nice," she says. He nods.

"It was."

He shifts his keys into his other hand – _you're stalling, O'Neill, get it together already_ – and clears his throat. She's beaming up at him, her smile wide and inviting, and he can feel the invitation, clear and simple.

He leans down, presses a soft kiss her cheek, but before he can step back, she slides her hand over his shoulder, round to the back of his neck, and pulls him back down to kiss him properly.

Her lips are soft against his, and she tastes like cinnamon and vanilla. The kiss is gentle and sweet and light as a breath, and if he'd thought he was already lost, he's officially done for.

When she pulls away, he catches his breath. And he can't quite place it, but he has this strange feeling that he _knows_ her, something far beyond goat apprehension and coffee and pastries and flirting across a Tim Horton's counter. Something bigger.

Something inevitable.

"I'd like to see you again." He's never been one for obfuscation. And it didn't get much more direct than a kiss. "And continue protecting you from small livestock."

She smiles, presses a hand to his cheek.

"My hero."

* * *

a/n: Inspired by the real-life story of a goat in Saskatchewan that wandered into a Tim Horton's and got "arrested" by the RCMP.


End file.
